


I never said I was perfect

by di_lamerr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Generation Relationship, F/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/di_lamerr/pseuds/di_lamerr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wondered what happened to Pansy after Hogwarts? And how she ended up Albus Potter's lover?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the breech we go

**Author's Note:**

> I love Slytherins, I know most tend not to like the females much, but bitches make the world go around.  
> There's one more chapter coming, there will be smut because come on you know you need smut, it's Pansy.

To explain how I come to have Albus Potter as a lover I should start from the beginning. Not when I was born, after the war, when I fell from grace with a single sentence and was barely not thrown to the dementors.

I would be no where without Blaise Zabini's mother. No doubt she is a bitch, a cold hearted woman that has built her wealth via her back, and poison. To be blunt a murderess; but she was my saviour.  
I had been raised with the expectation of being Mrs of the manor, my father had denied me little, my mother had taught me naught but the skills needed to rule a magical home, and I mean that in the broadest sense; shouting demands at elves I'd learn was not management.  
I was not prepared for a world where a boy could bring a full grown wizard to kneel or dust.

It was during the early weeks when Potter couldn't shut up about what a hero Snape was, about Mrs Malfoy saving him, and Draco lying for him. I was shunned for saying hand him over, like I hadn't said what every bloody other Slytherin raised in a home like mine thought. Yet unlike the mastermind of bringing death eaters into Hogwarts I had no protection.

She knocked on the door like she owned it, and if the Ministry held my father's businesses she may indeed.  
She smiled when she saw me, it never reached her hazel green eyes, but it was a smile, the first in weeks that wasn't spread across a elf's face, I cried.  
She explained she was representing an older man, who was looking for a wife, a pureblood wife.  
He'd approached my father, and had been denied, but now my parents were imprisoned, the family disgraced ...  
Lost I asked her what she would do. She answered truthfully, marry, I needed protection, a rich older man would give me that, and an education, including about the muggle world, muggles were quite wealthy she pointed out.  
Finishing school, college – a muggle American Ivy league for business, then I should become a broodmare and provide the man children, if not possible to wait there were nannies and house elves.  
My heart dropped in that moment for Blaise, and my future children but I needed this.  
“He is much older, a near compatriot of your grandfather.”  
I nodded that I understood.  
Then she held my face in her hands, “Do you have experience?”  
I thought of Draco's fumbling hands, and shook my head. She smiled, this time it reached her eyes.

I went to my marriage bed with a contract that was a thing of beauty. I used the Malfoy's solicitors, they did such a lovely job giving me the two finger salute I shared the joy.  
My marriage bed.  
I will not have my husband's name sullied, Fredrik Maurer was a good man raised in the old ways, a separatist with an healthy appreciation of muggles. He just didn't want them in his bloodline. I know how it sounds, it was better than my father's espousals, death.

Mrs Zabini pressed him to send me to finishing school first, Swiss, muggle or magical she didn't care. To quote, “The child has no finesse, the Malfoys would have needed to do the same.”  
I went.  
Nine months, half magical to acclimatize me to this new world, half muggle to truly finish me for the world.  
We take a plane, and the Arnage; limousines are vulgar Freddie lectures, I'm unsure what one is, I'm not even sure what the Arnage is, beyond a motor vehicle of some sort, my family did not lower itself to muggle modes of transportation.  
Freddie drops me off like a father at 9 ¾, depositing me and my bags at the door.  
He pats my shoulder, his seed drying on my thighs and with his heavy accent says, “Maybe you will leave early my little one. Either way I will see you in two weeks.” He is true to his world, he visits every two weeks for the time I am there.  
On holidays we travel, he's an only child of only children, my parents are imprisoned and displeased, there is no one for us to visit, he introduces me to the world.

Finishing school was tiresome but rewarding, I find that I am adequate at this. I may not like when it is my turn to act as wait staff; when I do the muggle half it is hard fighting the urge to whip my wand out and make it all right, but I leave with my diploma a bit more prepared for the world, and with an healthy distaste of being a student.  
I put an end to the uni bit, I have no interest in sitting in classes being battered verbally, slogging my way through boring books. I pressed Freddie to educate me in business, he sends me to work in his offices.  
Please don't fool yourself that he does this out of the kindness of his heart, this is not altruism. I am simply being trained to take control if necessary between his death and his future heir coming of age, but I am good.  
Hungry to prove I'm more than a tart the boss married.

We are married just under three years when I become pregnant, not so worrisome in a marriage such as ours.  
It is not perfect, I enjoy work. I'd taken Freddie's lack luster quidditch team, (he'd near forgotten he owned one! Can you believe?) and sacked near everyone and was enjoying watching them climb the ranks, while magical England pretended like the bitch who said give Potter to the dark lord wasn't the brains behind the unexpected boon to the Cannons.  
I'd got the potion makers cursing me because I make them produce pimple be gone and zit away, I know money makers. All hail teen witches' need to be perfect.  
And then I'm feeling lurgy and the mediwitch is smiling at me, telling me congratulations and to take it easy; this close to the cup!  
Freddie, oh he's in heaven! He owls the lawyers, signs the parchments and suddenly I am his heir, the baby and I are more than well taken care of, and I worry because this isn't Freddie, the man I married is precise and this is not how the contract said it would be done!  
I ask, he laughs and just says to enjoy; a few weeks later he's dead. A heart attack! There are potions for that!  
I lose the baby in rivulets of blood that roll down my legs as I stand at his grave site, and the fucking Prophet actually publishes the photo snapped at the second Mrs Zabini at my side realizes I've started to faint, blood stains my ankles, my face is pale and my hand is reaching for the shiny black box holding Freddie's body atop the pyre.  
I leave Europe then, settle myself in America living amongst muggles mostly and make Freddie money, lots of buggering money, while ignoring my parents and ninety nine percent of the arseholes from the wizarding world, until Draco calls me, begging me to come because he's fucked up, and remembering the boy I once loved I go.

Draco has not aged well, stress.  
He should have told the lot of them to fuck off, and left England a long time ago. He has a son, younger than mine would have been. A beautiful boy that I've never met even though I am his god mother and have sent him every gift the catalogues say poncy rich children need.  
A boy who is broken at his parents divorce as it's splash across the papers; the shame of it, couldn't his mother just not talk! Why can't his father remember silencing spells.  
I love him more.  
I buy a home in muggle London. I won't lie, I like electricity, tv and cars. House elves are fast but butlers and valets are are capable of conversation, it all swings and roundabouts.  
Back to Draco.  
Draco's going through “the divorce of the century” (until Potter's wife leaves him a few years later) the prophet calls it, and I'm his agony aunt as he cries on my shoulder over a piece of Weasley arse that has him giving up a home in France, a few million galleons and a manky cottage in Ireland (I know? Ireland who complains!)  
I don't know why his wife is surprised he likes men, if Potter had been bent there was no chance they wouldn't have had lots of angry I hate you sex.  
So they've forgotten they are adults, and while they scream at each other Scorp and I have lots of lovely conversations. I take him into the muggle world and teach him tons about it - like the EastEnders, Dr Who, fish and chips with mushy peas while he tries to steal sips of my larger, and fast cars.  
I do magical things too, like gift him and his friends tickets to quidditch, it delights the little bastards to be in the owners box at a professional match. They send thank you notes like good children.  
I read them and smile, I won't say how it thrills me so that Weasley nee Granger, and Potter both ended up with children in Slytherin. Really I won't.

When Potter comes banging at my door asking me what I mean to do to their children, I let my contempt roll off of me in waves.  
“Mean to do? Why eat them of course Potter. I am an evil witch, giving my godson a good time while his parents marriage crumbles, I'll fatten them up and feed them to my dragon. It's in the cellar next to the wine, horribly inconvenient, maybe you should fly it out.”  
The idiot has the sense to look chagrined, then shocked as he looks around, the butler is there in all his squiby six foot too fit to be a goon glory, the lights are flickering because Potter's bleeding magic like a bloody four year old, he takes in this purely muggle place and blushes.  
I want to hex him and fuck him; all that power. Fuck.  
Don't get me wrong I haven't lived a life void of sex since becoming a widow, withering in spinster-dom, I've had lovers.  
But there's a bit of me that wants to straddle his face and make him pay for not so much ruining my life, but ruining my life.  
You don't have to understand it.

A few years later Potter's barely legal look-a-like son offers to apologize for his father's insults in an archaic pureblood method, I give him a delightful hand job at his Uncle's wedding (Ronald married Lavender Brown in a record level of tacky after Granger finally got her head out her arse and left) and tell him find me when he leaves school.  
What? I never said I was perfect.  
Albus Severus enchants everyone he meets, he is smart, not Granger smart, but then her daughter isn't near as savant like as her mother. And the Granger boy, one more “Hullo Mrs Maurer” as he leers, red headed, freckled and looking like his minging father, I could chop his cock off and see if it helps him find some act right as the Americans say.  
I digress  
Albus is smart, and attractive, he has none of his father's daftness, he's not the boy who lived but he's got the Potter name, Slytherin cunning and he's willing to use both. I respect that.

He was at my door the first Saturday after the school year. There is nothing much to say about the sex, he was young and a virgin. Youth - no staying power, impressive recovery time.  
At the end of summer he left for the recesses of the Middle East off to apprentice with his Uncle, I kissed him good bye and reminded him to find a good wife. I really expected that to be the end.  
Surprisingly he returned to my bed every holiday bearing gifts, and I ignored each photograph in the paper of him and his friends, always a pretty girl hanging on his his every word.  
There was never a picture with any of them alone, I never questioned why a handsome young man seemed incapable of forging commitments.  
When he returned for good I invested in his business, actually I am his soul investor, it irked his father that he had no idea where the seed money came from. And it's a solid investment, not my cunny leading me.

It's just over seven years later from the day he knocked on my door, I turned in bed and there he is, hair fanned across my pillow, broad chest now curse poxed sleeping in my bed. It occurred to me that he had not been home in atleast four days, that he had clothing hanging in my closet, that his elf forwarded his mail to my home, that this was quite possibly a relationship.  
“Albus! Albus! Albus Severus Potter!”  
“Witch the sun hasn't even risen” His voice is rough from sleep.  
“Are we in a relationship?”  
He rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away sleep.  
“Are we really having this conversation now? It's been seven years Pansy and you only now realize?”  
“But... I don't want a relationship!”  
“And I've never asked you to meet the parents have I?”  
His tone was surprisingly not annoyed.  
“What we have... whatever it is works. Don't try to label it.”  
I couldn't help it I said the next thing that popped into my brain, sadly some bad habits you never out grow.  
“Don't you want children?”  
“Not really. My family does not need me to carry on the family name. Do you?”  
I stuttered, I hadn't thought about having a child in years.  
“I may, it's not too late.”  
I wait for him to pull away, to tell me that's it, instead he gives me this serious look that makes him look like his father .  
“I want to be the father.”  
“You just said you don't want children.”  
He gives me his wicked smirk, “With you witch I'd best my grandfather in the sprogs department.”  
“Your family hates me.”  
“So.”  
I stare at him bewildered, this isn't how this was supposed to go.  
“Witch surely you know I love you?”  
I try to think of a man who'd told me those words before, of someone I've trusted before. Maybe it's just that I'm oversexed and bewitched with good cock; maybe I love him.  
I give him a quick kiss and make an excuse slipping in to the bathroom, and apparate away.

 

“Mrs Maurer.”  
I never thought I'd heard Albus use that tone of voice with me, not like this. I imagined it would happen one day at one of those balls they invite me to only because my pockets are deep, and Draco reminds them I can be generous at times. Albus would be with his wife, and I would be that phase he's happily out of.  
“Join me Mr Potter.”  
Two can play this game.  
He steps into the booth and the privacy wards slide up.  
“I'm sorry.”  
He seems shocked to hear me say it. It's been a week since I cravenly left, he deserves that atleast. He nods.  
“I am your dirty secret aren't I Albus?”  
His lips set into a firm line, “I quite thought that I was yours Pansy.”  
Touche'  
“One does not wish to be thought of as a purveyor of ephebophilia, circumspection seemed prudent.”  
He sips his wine, my point made.  
“I'm no longer a kid.”  
I know that!  
“Would you have wanted me if your father didn't hate me?  
“My dad doesn't hate you.”  
“He doesn't like me either.”  
He opens his mouth to disagree, “To say otherwise would be a fabrication. He and I have never shared a kind word.”  
“Pansy stop! We could do this all day I am prepared to...but is me loving you so terrible?”  
He looks at me with those green eyes that have been a harbinger of so much disappointment to my life when held in another's face; it's as if he wrings the answer out of me  
“No. But you will want things, there are societal expectations.”  
He laughs.  
“I've never asked have I? And anyway my family is fucked, my parents broke their bond, mum is fucking the Headmaster they named me after, who used to be in love with my grandmother, one that mum happens to look like. Half the time I think he's fucking her just to get back at my dead grandfather and my dad in one shot.  
My Uncle is Draco Malfoy's lover, and the reason he divorced his wife! My other Uncle divorced the Minister of Magic to marry his hair dresser lover, another one can smell when his wife is turned on from across the room, growls at the men nearby, and is this shy of howling at the moon. I'm pretty sure another wears frocks on weekends, and knickers under his trousers. I think the collective of them should be glad I haven't shacked up with a cousin at this point.”  
The food pops on to the table, he gives me a small secretive smile when he sees I've ordered one of his favourites,  
“I will have you Pansy as long as you want me, and I know you want me”  
He's right.  
We eat, I think.  
He has impeccable manners, most would say that's to his parents credit, but the fact that he can eat an oyster has absolutely nothing to do with those two.  
I think of the places we've gone, little secluded out of the way muggle spots that Freddie would have laughed at, any of my lovers or friends really.  
Albus smiled and held my hand in dark rooms far from home, where food was the focus, and no one cared who we were.  
He laughed at the muggle love of foam, “For fuck sakes Pansy, what you are paying for a hint flavour, a bit of foam, and nugget of raw meat, I could buy half a souq in Marakesh!''  
Yet every time I asked if he was coming, he brushed his hair back, slipped into his good wool trousers, and mumbled as we left about the fit of his jacket.  
“Too damn short, atleast in robes a man can feel well covered.”  
This is the first time we have eaten in a wizarding establishment, people are looking, the privacy wards mean they can't hear us, Arcanum was made for being seen, not heard.  
I chose it just incase. Albus may not be as much like his father as his brother, Slytherin cunning tempering the brashness, but he is a Potter and their hotheadedness is legend.  
I realized too late, this said something else, no more secrets. 

“Can I ask you a question?”  
I sip my wine and nod.  
“That night” There is no question what night he means, and the fact that he is asking me about it here, now, sends a rod a apprehension down my spine. “Why?”  
Fuck you Albus! Fuck you! I take a deep breath and try to remember that he is a child of peace time and victors. History is written by the victors, the fucking sods.  
“If your father was standing outside that door, and his bitterest enemy was on this side and you were 17 years old, would you hand them over?”  
A light flush came to his cheeks. “So your Dad was there?”  
I rolled my eyes, and ignore the shame that burns in my chest every time I am forced to think about that night, instead looking at Albus through narrowed eyes, he is a Slytherin he knows this story! I can only imagine this is his Potter streak, bitter hurtful fucker.  
I place my wine glass down, wouldn't do to spill it, I am wearing pastels.  
“Of course he was, every single child in Slytherin had someone out there, even the half bloods, if not a parent, a cousin, an uncle, someone who carried their name. I don't know what the books say, I don't care, they were hundreds of them, hundreds!”  
“And your parents?”  
“We will not speak about my mother." I say it firmly and he nods, "My father was kissed, not because he was especially violent.” I can't help the way my nose flares as I speak, flash backs of Hogwarts crush me, “Hufflepuff loyalty! He refused to leave his lord, even when he was fucking ash!”  
Circe's tits I sound bitter, but I can't help what spills from my lips next “I pay the ministry each month for the privilege of having my father a drooling nincompoop because I'm not bitch enough to let him die, and the fucking bastards want to remind us we lost and it could be us next.”  
He's silent but I don't miss the slightest shiver that makes his wine sloosh just a bit. He's not comfortable with this line of conversation, no one is. No one wants to talk about what happens after the kiss, after the sentences are handed out. It's all startlingly laid out up until the cold lips plunder the soul out of a living body. No one talks about the body, the shell, what happens after.  
I close my eyes to the heat that floods them, and breathe, when I open them again I see Albus has paid, and everything is packed up to go. Dammit Albus I just blinked!  
He's looking at the table top just like he used to when he first came to me, innocent, wide eyed, bowled over by what he's learnt. It's amazing how someone so smart can be so stupid.  
“Come.” I stand imperiously and he follows the bags trailing behind.  
We step out into the warmth of summer in magical England and I stop, no matter which way we turn someone will recognize us, I knew I should have met him in muggle London!  
“My office is just this way.”  
Yes I know where it is Albus I own the building, yet I wait as he send the bags on, and allow his hot hand on my back to guide me.  
People can not help but to whisper, I am … not popular. The story has been retold year after year at victory celebration they all know who I am; he is Harry Potter's son, universally loved. I feel the urge to piss them all off, maybe I should hold his hand?  
I don't,=. I know he's still angry, I know at some point he will remember it; it isn't wise to play with him.  
He catches sight of McGonagall who narrows her eyes, features pinched as she looks at us, and his hand slips from my back to splayed on my hip. I should have just held his hand, this may get me assassinated.  
I keep my face neutral, and keep walking; he doesn't move his hand.  
At least my will is updated.


	2. So gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be this long.

Have I mentioned that I have no luck?  
His office was tucked between a barrister and fashionable clothier, the building just off the Alley was ancient if it was a day, checkered yellow and red brick it was the last vestige of the once great Parkinson holdings. I had only bought it because it held pleasant memories of my father.  
We stepped in the door and his receptionist, red haired, so a cousin of some sort head popped up.  
“Your mother ...”  
“I don't have time Roxie.”  
“Is in your office with Snape.” She rushed it out in one sharp breath, then shrugged and gave a flustered look.  
Albus paused, his back straightened and he reached for my hand, I had a moment where common sense screamed for me to turn and step to hell out the door.  
Instead I let him lead me down the hall, his cousin's whispered “Expecto Patronum” following us and I wondered who she was calling, hopefully the Aurors, I'd love my murderer to actually face the Wizengamot.

 

Ms Weasley sat across from Albus' desk, Snape's hand resting on her shoulder in a supportive gesture that left me worried, and certain that I shouldn't be within miles of this room.  
She frowned giving me a hard look, “This is a private family issue Albus.”  
“He's here, Pansy can stay.” There was a bitterness there that I would ask about, later maybe. I wondered how difficult school was when your mother wasn't only your teacher, but was fucking your Headmaster.  
Snape's brow lifted, a small twitch of his lips betrayed that he found humor in this situation. It becomes crystal clear in this moment that we are a nation of emotionally stunted bastards.

“He has a personal interest in this situation.”  
“She has a personal interest in me.”  
She sighed and moved to stand but Snape's hand on her shoulder kept her sitting, he lowered his head to her ear, I don't know what he said but she looked at me again, a long appraisal with those watery blue eyes, only moving her eyes from mine as she opens her mouth, and closes it, before finally she meets Albus' eyes  
“I'm expecting.”  
I really didn't want to be here. Snape didn't have sex, as a Slytherin Snape was a father figure, an asexual being neither needing nor wanting love or sex, and surely lacking the necessary parts. Bitterness congealed into human form.  
Albus laughed, it was what I would expect from a spurned lover, cold, bitter, rejection breathed between an h and an a.  
“Do you want me to give you my blessings? Babysit?”  
Ginny's wand arm twitched, Snape tapped her on the shoulder, as he gave Albus a warning look, his voice is low, vicious, sixth year Hogwarts or potions with Potter Snape, just the look makes you question the sagacity of your actions.  
“ We will leave you to Miss Parkinson, feel free to contact your mother when you are prepared to act like the responsible adult you are believed to be.”  
Snape didn't give Ginny the option of kissing Albus goodbye, he offered her a hand, me a thin lipped smile, and swept her from the room.

“So how long have you disliked your mother?”  
“Pansy when you talk to me about your mother, I'll talk to you about mine.”  
I laugh, “Mine wouldn't try to kill you, yours is consulting Snape's stores as we speak.”  
He shook his head, “She didn't kill my dad, I think you're safe.”  
Well what the fuck did growing up in casa Potter do to his kids? Why was I sleeping with someone young enough to be my child with just as many issues?  
“Albus?”  
He turned towards a small cabinet in the corner, “hmmm”.  
I took a deep breath forcing air into crevices of my lungs that had long been left dormant.  
“My mother disowned me, she lives somewhere on Iona with her new husband and has requested that she never set eyes on me.”  
He pours two large drinks, “Whatever your parents faults, and I'm sure there are many, they love you.”  
He hands me a glass, and I watched fire dance in the whiskey. “I don't doubt they love us, but I don't think they loved each other, not the way parents should, and kids should have that.”  
“Albus you've fucked me for seven years without me realizing we were in a relationship, tiny violins for the war fucked all around.”  
“I wanted normal loving parents.”  
“So did Scorp, so did your father, so did I.”  
“So we are all screwed?”  
“Very much so.”  
He threw back his entire glass, “I'll send her an owl when we get home.”  
“Home? We?”  
He gave a laugh, “Oh I never left the house, I figured you'd come back.”

We pass his uncles on the way out, the scarred one who sniffs, then grins lasciviously; and Ronald whose scowl only deepens when I walk out of the room, but is silenced by a sharp jab in the ribs from his brother.  
“Your dad is on his way, you should probably floo.”  
Albus nods, and takes a handful of powder calling out the destination and pushing me into the flames

We are spat into Albus' tiny flat my skin tingling from the wards, where they had crawled along my skin searching. There is a moment between breaths that I am keenly aware of the fact that they may reject me, when in a heart beat they accept me and it strikes me that he must have put me on them some time ago, but I've never been to his.  
I'm a horrible girl friend ... significant other … paramour? Merlin I'm over forty this is ridiculous.  
“We can go to the house, or we can go to the cottage.”  
I try to think like the responsible adult I believe I am, home, or the cottage where I'd hidden away?  
“Home is fine.” He smiles and nods, “Good because my dad is on my wards and when he finds out you are the boyfriend I've had hidden all these years, he's going to hit the fan.”  
He spins us into nothingness as I splutter at the thought of his parents thinking I was his boyfriend, grateful determination is not needed for side along.  
The foyer greets me the same as it always has been, mirror to the left, an arrangement of fresh flowers, dahlias and roses, to the right.  
“Your father does know where I live.”  
“Yeah but Bill won't let him come here.”  
I cast my memories back, Bill, the werewolf scarred one with the half veela wife, Bill who went to Egypt to train him. Upsetting almost the whole family but for Bill's wife, who with kids grown and no little ones in need of her, simply packed up and moved to the desert, annoying Gran, and mother. I can hear his voice in my head, it's madness. I know all about the cousins, and Uncles yet nothing about his childhood.  
“He was in your office with Ronald.”  
“You'll like him.”  
“Really?”  
“He knows you Pansy, he's smelt you on me from the first time I was dumped at his feet in Egypt by my portkey.”  
I hadn't thought of that.  
“Why does your father believe you are consorting with men?”  
He laughs this deep belly laugh, that rumbles in his chest, and warms me with it's openness.  
“Muggle thing. It's still illegal in some places for men to marry. I was hiding someone, so why not a man?” He shrugs, “Dad is still muggle in some ways.”  
I move away from the foyer, and start up the stairs, “I've never thought about how handicapped your father is in this world.”  
He moves behind me hand on my hip, “Really?”  
I laugh, “I've never cared about your father beyond the fact that he was voulait pas within pure blood circles.”  
I start to unbutton my jacket, listening to his heavy steps behind me, I kiss my finger tips and run them against the flowers and diamond broach of the bouquet spinning perfectly charmed like the day I held it in the registry office, as I say the prayer I have said every day since.  
 _Circe, protect those I care for, stand with me against mine enemies, be my sword shining bright in darkness._

“Do you still love him?”  
My heel crashes against the riser, I stubble forward and he grabs me before I crash into the stairs, “What the fuck Albus!”  
“Sorry! I didn't mean to upset you.”  
I let my body slip to the stairs, Albus moves back a step.  
“I never loved him. It wasn't a marriage of love, he wanted a pure blood child, and I needed,” I tried to think of a way to say this that won't make him upset, “protection.”  
He sighs. “Was it difficult being a pure blood back then?”  
I slip my shoes off, “More so for me, I was the horrible person who had said give your father to the Dark Lord … people were keen to be seen in the right light.”  
“They still hold it against you.”  
“Wouldn't you?”  
“No.”  
“That's only due to the fact that you have stuffed your face in my cunt.”  
Albus blushes, the pink showing through the rugged tan he still carries, “So Freddie?”  
“Was a business deal with a kind heart.” Tears bloom in my eyes, “He was father, protector, teacher, and lover. He was better than I deserved, and he still didn't get his son!”  
Tears fall then, hot on my cheeks, running down dripping against my breast.  
I bite in to my lip least the words that slip from them crush me under their weight. My failures loom large in my head.  
Albus arms come around me, pulling me into his lap, his lips go to my ears murmuring that it's not my fault, and I shouldn't blame myself.  
Merlin, Circe, gods above and below how did I not know this was love?  
How could I have gone on all these years deceiving myself that it was just good sex?  
I allow myself to melt into him, to draw from his strength, to be weak, no not weak, vulnerable!  
When was the last time I cried infront of a man who was not Draco?  
Had Freddie ever seen me cry? Charm after charm, failure each month, I'd lock myself in my boudoir before I allowed myself to cry.  
I think back to my childhood to my parents arguments, I'd learnt it from them.  
My mother's simpering, my father's domineering, he would withdraw to the fire whiskey, she to her private rooms, within minutes if I placed my ears to the door her weeping would be heard.  
 Albus keeps talking to me, telling me he's here, he's got me, I'm safe. I, foolishly, believe him.


	3. I believe him.

We are standing in the bedroom, I'm wearing his shirt which drapes like a dress around me and nothing else, when a silver stag gallops into the room, what the fuck is it with Gryffindors and the patronus charm? Do they teach it as you fall out of the womb? Here is your mother's breast, and a charm.  
His father's voice tumbles out, “Al, Bill can't keep me here forever plying me with Arthur’s whiskey. We will have to talk at some point. Ummm know that I will always love you, no matter, ummmm who you choose to ahhhh associate with.”  
Albus huffs a disgruntled sound. “I do want the best for you, and if she,” he hisses the word out; careful Potter your anger is showing, “makes you happy who am I to stop you?”  
The patronus dissolves and the mist of another forms, fucking Albus Severus Potter! This is what happens when you get involved with Gryffindors.  
Khepera forms from the mist, the voice is velvety gruff. I know this is his scarred Uncle, the Egyptian god patronus, the voice, almost accented English, must be the French wife and all those years living abroad.  
“... sorry, I'll keep him here with us over night. Take your woman some place for a couple of days, I'll hold off on sending you anything new from the vaults.”  
The man sized beetle shuffles, floating. “I love you Al, don't let the family tell you who you are allowed to love. Fleur says hello, and to tell Madame that she is welcomed to dinner at the cottage.” The beetle laughs, and Albus laughs too.  
Fleur? What has Al told me about his Aunt Fleur? Ahh the triwaizard champion from Beauxbatons, still pisses off his grandmother, mother, and most of the daughters in laws. Would you know I speak passable French, and would love an ally.

 

I forced him to my desk, my personal stationary and a quill infront of him, with a growled demand to write his mother. I sit on a wing chair small writing box on my lap, trying to word my own missive to Headmaster Snape. The words came slowly.  
Snape is a hard man, kind to his Slytherins, and fair behind closed doors. He had more than once in my foolish years encouraged me to, “Put your mind to work Miss Parkinson.”  
Later I understood, he more than any other had intimate knowledge of the future that would come, his urgings meant to direct me unlike my parents.  
He sent me a letter after he had healed congratulating me on my nuptials, prompting me never to forget the value of education. When the Cannons made the finals, that horrible year after I lost Freddie and my son, I gifted my box to him.  
I may not have gone on to university but I could admit that as I sat in meetings with men who held little regard for me, as I poured over documents a hundred and fifty times Freddie's age, with wordings so archaic I could find no living person able to define them, his voice was in my ear, “All knowledge is worth while Miss Parkinson.”  
I learnt.

The letters are off, the owl a tiny thing Scorp gave me for a gift when I first returned, hooting it's pleasure at being used, when Albus turns to me and asks  
“Do you trust me?”  
Where did that come from?  
“I am not in the habit of bedding men I do not trust.”  
He rolls his eyes at me,  
“I'd like to take you some where.”  
Oh, “Some where, where?”  
“Witch can't I surprise you?”  
“I do not find pleasure in the unknown.”  
“But there is pleasure with me.”  
I nod, this man child will ruin me.  
“Let me dress.”  
“Pack an over night bag, you'll need it.”  
He pulls his wand from his pocket, “Expecto ...”  
“Does every Griffindor learn that charm at their mother's knee!”  
“My dad taught us.”  
I frown, “Mine taught me hexes.”  
“How can you not know how do to a patronus?”  
I'd like to fuck the bottle of ink at his head, but I won't risk my carpet, ink is a bitch to get out even with spells.  
“Slytherins never got the super special knock for Dumbledore's Army. And Hogwarts Dark Arts professors have a long history of being supremely ill-equipped to teach period, with the exception of Snape.”  
My eyes slip from him to the darkening window, “And we lack the requisite materials to work with.”  
He moves to stand infront of me, “Remember the first time we had sex?”  
I giggle, it's such an unconscionably childish sound, “When you ejaculated on my mons?”  
He blushes, “After that.”  
“When I walked you through ...”  
“Pansy after that, when we were laying in bed, you said you normally would kick me out...”  
“But today I will reward your efforts. You may stay.”  
“You taught me whist.”  
I laugh then, I hadn't forgotten, he had been a monumentally horrible player. I laughed until I cry.  
He smiles, and hands me my wand from the table, slipping behind me, holding me tight, his scent engulfs me as I lean back against him, old books, something metallic, musk, bergamot, and sticky toffee.  
“Hold that memory, and repeat after me, Expecto Patronum!”  
My mind wanders, I think about the last time we had sex, he'd smelt the same, plus there was a slight bitterness of the potion he sometimes used. He'd taken me before his bath, hard and fast, calling my name as I called his.  
“Expecto Patronum!”  
Mist streams from my wand, taking shape, I can't help that I gape like a fool.  
His lips are trembling against my ears, “Pansy? Is that a focking lion?”  
He releases me, falling cackling to the floor.  
Well fuck me.  
He's still chuckling as he sends his patronus off to his Uncle to make us a port key, “Yes I know this is slightly illegal, no I don't care.”  
I've turnt over the next week to him. He has plans he says, then scuffs his toes against my carpet, in that moment looking so much like the boy I met seven years before.

 

“Why are portkeys always garbage.”  
“So muggles won't touch them.”  
“Lies. Muggles collect tin cans and bottles, and recycle them for money all the time!”  
“Do they? My grandfather would love to learn that titbit.”  
I arch my eye brow, he chuffs a breath of air  
“He's, I think, addicted to muggle stuff. Got a whole shed that's magically expanded to hold electrical crap, flying cars, one hundred broken toasters, a flying motor bike James crashed that belonged to my dad. A ton of stuff.”  
“Your grandmother allows this?”  
“That's why he's in the shed! He'd take over the house if she let him”  
“Ahh.”  
He stops, and gives me a long considering look. “We have Sunday dinner there the first Sunday of every month, since it's all out in the open now...”  
Dinner at his grandparents, his grandmother killed Draco's Aunt Bella, couldn't have happened to a more deserving bitch, but still.  
I truly consider what he's asking, the grandparents founding members of the Order of the Phoenix. His father the darling saviour of the wizarding world, his mother a respectable quidditch player (never on my roster.) turned teacher. His aunt the new Minister of Magic, and Granger really is brilliant I'll give her that. His family is embedded in every part of wizarding culture, and while I do find Charlie more than bearable, we share nothing in common. The encumbrances were terrifying.  
“They won't hurt you.”  
I laugh, “They will when they find out this has been going on seven years.”  
I can't help it I collapse onto the bed cackling like a mad woman, Harry Potter is going to kill me for defiling his son.  
I'm laughing like loony Lovegood, pardon me Aunt Luna, when I feel the bed move; he crawls on top of me slowly giving me a chance to get away. I let my legs fall open.  
He nips me below my breast, I sigh, and he continues up until our lips meet.  
Kissing Albus is all sweetness and greed, it's always been this way. He nips and plays with my lips tasting of cinnamon and mint, and I want more. I want to sink into his innocence.  
Albus rolls us and suddenly I am on top without the kiss breaking, he starts to draw runes down my spine.  
Muggles would say that he opened my chakras, that is the only explanation they would have for the energy that I feel as the rune is completed against my skin; but I am a witch, we are born able to access those points. There is a theory that magical ability comes from thus.  
But that's not what Albus doing, no, at the closing of each rune he pushes just enough of his magic into the rune to ignite my magic. It is dangerous, it is sex magic that if the Ministry of Magic believed anyone was idiot enough to try today, but inbred pure bloods who'd probably maim each other, they would write laws against it.  
After the first one he stops and looks at me. I should shake my head no, and get to hell up. I know the risk, so does he. Instead I nod and kiss him again, reckless fool I am.  
By the third rune there is a growing spot of wet on Albus' trousers, he is rock hard against my mons, his breathing slow, measured.  
He starts the incantation of the fourth rune as his finger crosses the fourth time over the fouth stroke of the rune, in other words he does it perfectly; I stop breathing.  
My breath is suspended, I can do nothing, not think, not be, nothing, I am locked into the magic of the runes. On the sixth rune our clothes disappear. I breathe again, panting as my clitoris throbs against his cock.  
Albus slides his hips up as he incants the seventh, and I cum. I shatter into a million pieces starting at the base of my spine screaming his name, and the bastard man child slips into me, one second my pussy is clenched, the other he's pushing into my tightness, hissing as he grabs my hips.  
I stare into his eyes as I am pulled back together, the magic centering me in the here and now, on him in me, my focus his eyes, Merlin they are so green.  
I feel his magic furl itself into what I can only describe as a snake like shape and undulate up my spine. It sets my nerves alight, I can understand Caligula a whole lot better now as Albus grinds his hips up slowly.  
I'd make a horse a priest right now, fuck that I'd make an elf Minister of Magic!  
He almost finished the conjuration, our magics writhe against each other. My hips buck, he strokes my magic with his as he thrust his hips, fuck me! I'm going to die! My heart can't take this! Sex magic with a Potter what the fuck was I thinking? Right I wasn't.  
His pace picks up, my cunt can not possibly keep up with the amount of sensations. I don't know if I'm breathing, is this just one long orgasm? I feel fire. I look down, we are on fire!  
He smiles at me, draws me down flames licking my breast; into my mouth he invokes and I know his intent as he channels all that power into me.  
He nips my lip, and I feel the blood bloom.  
Sex magic, and blood.  
I don't need to feel the pinch of ovulation, I know I'm pregnant even as we orgasm.  
I know we are bonded as his lip with matching drop of blood kisses mine.  
I laugh madly as my body slump into his, I feel him curl around me, whispering about love, and forever.  
I believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end.  
> No I won't write a pregnant Pansy, sorry. But you got sex.


End file.
